


These Moments Last An Eternity

by loyallyloved



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/F, at random spots cause i'm too lazy to do this chronologically, based throughout the series, honestly it's soft porn, maybe some actual porn, maybe some actual soft, mimicking the showrunners, perhaps a sprinkle of angst and drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23154730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyallyloved/pseuds/loyallyloved
Summary: A collection of intimate moments that seem to last an eternity for both women.Aka I'm going to hell for writing the nasty.But tasteful nasty.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 61
Kudos: 180





	1. Yennefer Gives Tissaia a Massage in her Office

**Author's Note:**

> We're going to start off Semi Chill and work our way towards Semi Kill ;)  
> Also, Yennefer is already an adult in the first chapter! So no worries about underage business.

"You're stressed."

The unexpected voice startles Tissaia awake from her late night meditation. Her eyes catch the unwavering stare opposite of her, brows pinching ever so slightly. "You're supposed to be in your room at this hour." Yennefer doesn't budge. Tissaia presses, "Given your slow track of progress, you still need all the help you can get, piglet." 

_Ah, there it is._ That familiar flash of irritation in those purple hues. Of rage, pride, _chaos_. And hurt. 

It makes Tissaia want to flinch, but she steels herself. Raises her head a little higher. She can't be soft on the girl. The world isn't soft, and it'll eat her girls up if she doesn't prepare them here in Aretuza. Especially Yennefer. The girl was raised in the mud, for goodness' sake; she doesn't understand politics. It's why she acts on emotion and impulse more oft than not. 

No, Tissaia won't throw the girl to the wolves without teaching her how to _become one,_ first.

"Why do you call me that?" 

She falters at the softness in Yennefer's tone. "Call you what?" Her voice comes out strained. She doesn't like being surprised. 

"Piglet," Yennefer repeats distastefully. Ever since Tissaia had essentially bought the girl from her ignorant father, she had used the nickname to break the girl down. Despite her harsh ways, the Rectoress is easier on the girls than her own rectoress had been. Though they'll never know this satisfying piece of information. She hardly needs their pity or their teasing when she rules over them. 

She **has** to break Yennefer down. Completely. Every uncertainty, every insecurity, every unfitting trait of a sorceress. So she can build the chaotic creature up from nothing, molding her into something fierce and unrecognizable. After all, there are times when softness invades and destroys far more than anger and resentment and bitterness does. But Tissaia is careful to rein these latter emotions in whenever Yennefer teeters on the brink of catastrophe. It's a delicate dance on the edge of the world with this girl. 

And it exhilarates Tissaia. Terrifyingly so. 

"Did I not purchase you from a pig pen? Is that not what you are?" The younger woman drifts in without response, closing the door behind her. Tissaia's feathers ruffle, "I don't recall inviting you into my office. In fact, just the opposite. Or has your hearing gone with your magic?" 

"I don't like it when you call me that." Tissaia exhales heavily through her nose, annoyed by Yennefer's disrespect at a time like this. She wants the girl to march back to her room and stay there, out of her hair, and out of her _mind_ for the rest of the night. Hence the meditation. She is stressed. Being Rectoress means dealing with a list of headaches: the Chapter and Brotherhood, Stregobor, the changing tides in politics throughout the kingdoms, crafting the next line of ascending mages, and _Yennefer._

Yennefer who stands now at her side, looking like a lost puppy and hellfire all at once. 

"And what would you have me call you?" It's a challenge that's left her lips before she has the chance to stop herself from playing the girl's game. Her eyes fail to meet the other's, pretending to be interested in a novel's spine past Yennefer's deformed one. 

Nerves thrum even louder when the younger woman shifts outside of her line of vision, coming to stand behind her chair. Tissaia hates losing control, but it's slipping. She's curious why the young mage has wandered into her office, and what her true intentions are. Curious enough not to stop events from transpiring. 

"Yennefer's a nice start." 

_Oh no._ Goosebumps line her arms.

Strong but skillful hands have come to rest on her tense shoulders, thumbs curving down the back of her exposed neck. They press into her body, rolling and squeezing and _aching,_ no doubt. 

Her chest flushes hotly under her gown. Immediately, Tissaia jerks away, burned by the contact, "What do you think you're doing?" Her eyes are hard - but she feels like prey under those brightly painted eyes. That widen from her reaction.

Yennefer lifts her hands, stumbling now over her actions, "I-I was....only trying to help." They stay staring at each other for what seems like an eternity. Tissaia invading Yennefer's mind to discover some ulterior motive, and the young mage proving there to be none. "See? I'm only trying to help," she reiterates after the mental probing. "You're stressed. Your body shows it. You could use a massage." The very thought is inappropriate, but Yennefer is insistent, "I used to give them to-" She halts, brushing over the topic of her family. She's forgotten them. "-back in Vengerberg. I'm _good_ at it." 

Without meaning to, Tissaia swallows hard. An invisible lump had formed in her throat at the mere thought of Yennefer giving her a massage. She wouldn't be able handle the real thing, "It's an unnecessary use of energy. You should focus more on being good at your studies."

"Please," she tries gently.

Tissaia's resolve wanes. But she forces herself to refuse, "No, piglet. Now back to your room."

"Rectoress-"

"No, Yennefer!" she barks louder.

" **Yes, Tissaia,** " the dark-haired thing snaps back in final command, hands gripping her shoulders and pushing her back against the chair. A gasp falls from the brunette's mouth - and she can feel the fingers at her shoulders twitch. They're both surprised by the dominance. 

This won't end well. She needs to leave. She needs _Yennefer_ to leave. It is her office, after all. She commands the room; _she_ commands Aretuza. 

_And yet..._

And yet as soon as the younger woman's fingers (hesitantly) roll into her shoulders, she remains seated. 

Taking it as a sign to continue, Yennefer's fingers expertly work to loosen the years' worth of knots in her shoulders. Tissaia doesn't speak. Doesn't breathe. She can't. The feeling is almost unbearably good. Begging to entrance her. 

And it does.

****

Yennefer watches the Rectoress slowly accept her touch. It's the way Tissaia's shoulders release from their tensed position, slided further down from her neck, curve forward so that Yennefer has more access. "There you are," she finds herself whispering, "Relax.... I've got you." 

But never in the way she's _wanted,_ before.  
Though this is certainly close. 

Her first few years in Aretuza were ones of abhorrence for the Rectoress. Yennefer despised the cruelty Tissaia displayed towards her. Less so on others, yet she did come to Anica's defense a time or two. For the sake of their friendship - something she struggled to keep outside of their practices. A lot of pointless chatter that bored her.

Tissaia never bores her, though. Never did. 

It's an endless surprise with the uptight mage. There are times when Yennefer thinks she has Tissaia down - to the last strand of hair. The last detail. 

But then the Rectoress says something and flips her world upside down again, just like she had when she'd brought Yennefer to Aretuza. And it drives her mad! Trying to solve an unsolvable puzzle. Having every piece intact except for the last to wind up missing. It fuels her; she wakes up to see Tissaia, to prove herself to Tissaia, to impress Tissaia. Some days she's unsure if she wants to become her or become something more than her, but there's an underlining consistency in craving: she wants her.

She's thought about the Rectoress before - in the comfort of her room. Lazily sprawled in her bed, with a hand dipped between trembling thighs. The way the older woman scorns her leaves her imagination open to darker fantasies: being punished almost excessively, only to be treated special and affectionately. To have Tissaia's hand dig into her thighs, or pet her hair, or...

Yennefer shakes her head, clearing away the images. The last thing she needs is Tissaia probing her mind when she's fantasizing about fucking her. Especially when her hands are on the woman's shoulders, doing everything they can to please.

And they do. 

Telling by the sound Tissaia suddenly makes.

 _Oh god._ Her legs press together. _Was that a moan?_

It was stifled, but undoubtedly there. Hidden behind heavy breathing. Not that that made it any better. 

Tissaia knows Yennefer's heard it, telling by the way she tenses under her fingertips. However, the raven-haired girl skims over the sound without acknowledging it, pressing her fingers deeper. Encouraging the Rectoress to make _more_ sounds. Louder ones like that, preferably. 

Whenever she does press harder like this, she tends to change the pacing- so as not to make the massage too painful. A gentle rub here, a feather light trail of her fingers over a clothed decolletage there, and circling skin with her thumbs at the base of Tissaia's skull. 

Again a moan sounds. Though it's more whimper than anything else.  
This time, shoulders do not tense.  
_Very good._

Yennefer hints for Tissaia to tilt her head, to expose one side of her neck more. The older woman does so without resistance. From this angle, Yennefer can see she's shut her eyes. Her small, enticing lips are parted open - moving in rhythm to Yennefer's hands. It's hard not to paint that same expression in a naughtier light.

There's a familiar wetness between the young mage's legs. A needy throbbing. She wants to slip a sneaky hand under her dress and deal with the painful reminder of her attraction. But she doesn't. It's too soon, and she's worked too hard to get this far to fuck it up by impulse. Tissaia is always scolding her for impulse.

_She'll make her proud, just this once._

"Does that feel alright?" Yennefer asks, purely to hear-

" _Yes,_ " Tissaia breathes. 

To hear **that.**

Daringly, she slides her palms further down, past Tissaia's shoulders, fingertips threatening to spill over her chest.  
They resist, but they tease the idea. 

And the Rectoress's breathing becomes erratic. 

Feeling the oh so powerful Tissaia de Vries turn into pure putty in her hands is dangerously the _hottest_ thing Yennefer has ever experienced. By far, the most addicting too. Her head already spins with ways she can get the woman alone again, ways she can explore not only her mind but her body. A body carved too perfectly not to touch. Half of Yennefer's frustration existed in her studies and the other half existed in Tissaia's choice of style. She wanted to tear the dull, conservative outfits apart and see the brunette lying recklessly bare in a pile of sheets, chest heaving, hair wild and flowing over creamy skin. Rosy nipples hard, lips bruised, neck marked. 

Her own breathing has increased. In short little desperate puffs of air. She can't even use her lungs properly at this point.

 _Damn trying._ She gave it her best.

With the right side of Tissaia's neck still exposed, Yennefer lowers her head ever so carefully - so as not to give herself away. 

And then she presses a provocative kiss to the pulse.  
Her tongue even managing to lick over the skin there before drawing her lips together. 

**Tasting** her. 

And she tasted fucking divine. 

There's a sharp inhale on Tissaia's part. A curl of her hands, from what Yennefer can see, into tight fists. The dark-haired girl worries she's about to be portaled into an abyss, but she remains behind the chair somehow. And to make matters more interesting, her dear teacher's chest lifts. _Wanting attention._  
But Tissaia pushes herself down against the chair a split second later, no doubt scolding herself for the blatant display of desire. 

By now, all Yennefer wants to do is get rid of the chair between them, push Tissaia back onto her desk, rip her gown off her body, and _devour it._ Everything is practically pulsing, her heart, her veins, her clit. It doesn't help when she starts to imagine the Rectoress down on her knees, lips wrapped around it, obsessively perfecting her tongue's movements. 

Her kiss against Tissaia's neck is hungrier. Her teeth become involved, nipping the delicate flesh there. 

A groan sounds - and it's uncharacteristically feral from the older woman. Her hand flies up and into Yennefer's hair, fingers threading through her raven locks and tightening. Pulling. Yennefer winces, whimpering into Tissaia's ear - breath hot against it. There's goosebumps running along the other's neck, now. 

Eager to push limits, Yennefer dots passionate kisses up the brunette's neck. Halfway up, she sucks vengefully on the skin - though the fingers in her hair quickly threaten murder. She relents. Barely. Because of what she has in mind next.

She shifts towards the right side of the chair - left hand bracing itself against a relaxed shoulder and the right smoothing over a high, sharp cheek. Her kisses transition: short and starving along Tissaia's jaw, maneuvering the woman's willing head towards her own with every deliberate one. 

Until she's just kissed the edge of Tissaia's lips.  
There's no magic in the world that could make her feel _this fucking amazing._

She needs **more.**

Without second thought, Yennefer goes in to kiss the very lips she's dreamt of for months and years now. 

_And that's when things go to shit._

"Stop!" the Rectoress commands, breaking violently away from the trance. From any and all proximity to the young mage in training.  
And her magic sends Yennefer flying across the room.

To say she's shocked is an understatement. She's left practically bug-eyed and gaping at the older woman, body tangled in the clutter of Tissaia's office. Her spine aches from the rough impact. It serves as a brief, cold reminder. Certainly not something she wants to feel when she's been thrown across the room by the woman she was about to kiss. 

The two of them are breathing so heavily that Yennefer has to wonder if they've done anything more than what they have. 

At least her teacher seems visibly shaken, too. Tissaia gulps, runs hands over her face, pushing away hair that isn't there because it's still neatly tucked into a tight bun.  
This isn't rejection, is it? It's losing control.  
And telling by the clearly _unintended_ display of magic, Tissaia's lost a lot.

Because of her.

"Tissaia-"

"Don't." Her voice is cold again. Perhaps colder in this light. It is stern and disappointed, but Yennefer imagines less directed at her. More at its owner. "Leave."

"Rector-"

"I said leave! Or do I have to portal you to your room?" 

It feels like cold water being poured over her, drowning her in its chills. The raven-haired girl rises awkwardly to her feet - and she thinks she sees guilt in Tissaia's eyes as she watches. But it may have been her wanting to see it. Without saying anything more, Yennefer leaves the office as instructed, closing the door behind her.


	2. Tissaia Returns The Favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys...I said I wasn't doing this chronologically but I Lied.  
> Hope you enjoy <3

Violet eyes stare blankly ahead.  
Yennefer reaches for the sponge beside the tub, but her wince gets in the way. 

The other mages in training had left today's lesson intact, save for the hunchback. Tissaia had called it a 'test of wills.' _'More like a game,'_ Sabrina had retorted under her breath. Situated across from each other, the remaining students (who were inevitably set to ascend) were to compete in a tame manner of battle. One would try and strike the other with their magic, and the other was meant to deflect it. Or absorb it. Or redirect it towards the original mage. Whichever option worked best for them, so long as they weren't hit. 

And while Yennefer wasn't as pathetic as she was when she first arrived in Aretuza, she was still behind Sabrina's mastery. As much as she hated to admit it. 

So, when the blonde redirected her own shot against her during the heat of their game, Yennefer hadn't had the time to block the move. Not after getting distracted by Tissaia's small look of approval that their test had managed to last as long as it had. 

The warm water stings her wound, but her burn is less affected than her pride.  
After all, the former would heal; the latter might never. 

Exhaling heavily, the raven-haired woman begins to scrub around the injury to clean it. She steadies herself against one side of the tub. Her body threatens her every time the sponge inches closer to the mark on her abdomen. She ignores it as much as she can - same as she's learned to ignore the pains of her twisted spine. 

The bathhouse remains empty besides her. Yennefer knows by now that the other girls never visit the room this late. She's tested the theory plenty times over since living in Aretuza. Despite her growing confidence, Yen still finds herself insecure about her body. She refuses to dress around them, bathe around them, or anything of the sort. And although she sleeps with Istredd from time to time, it's different. He sees what he wants to see in the throes of passion. Yennefer suspects this to be the case. But the girls would see her deformities as they are. No lust to cloud their attentive vision. 

"Maybe one or two of them would," she supposes aloud, staring into water at her distorted reflection. The candlelight is soft on her features. She can almost imagine herself prettier. Without flaws, like the others. Not necessarily their best-looking selves, not until after their transformations, at least. But passing. Enough to garner attention from lovers in the city streets, if they willed it. Yennefer, however, would find no such luck, no matter how hard she tried. Istredd was just too lonely in his studies - as much as she was. 

"Fringilla might." She's caught the other girl staring at her before. Though she can never decipher what it is behind those brown eyes. Lust? Envy? She can't imagine it being the latter. Who would be envious of her? The half monster from Vengerberg.

"Fringilla might - **what** , exactly?" 

"Agh!" The sudden voice sends her reeling, tripping her feet and causing her body to fall into the water with a sound _splash_. Yennefer desperately grabs for the side of the tub and hoists herself up, hissing as water rolls from her soaked wound. "Shit," she curses, annoyed by the intrusion and by her second slip of pride in front of the Rectoress. The raven-haired student sinks into the water, nonetheless, if only to avoid the calm stare of her instructor's. "I'm bathing! Look away." 

"I don't think I will, piglet." As if to further spurn her, the Rectoress closes the door behind her, locking it, and makes her way towards the tub. She's dressed in her usual, and Yennefer doubts the woman bathes in her restrictive gowns, as much as she acts like she might. So why come to the bathhouse? To find her? To rub salt in the wound after today's lesson? Most literally.

"I don't want you here," she argues, eyes cast aside and conflicted tone apparent. Maybe she does, in better circumstances. But not like this. 

Her protests do her no good. They never have, so why does she keep expecting otherwise?  
It's stupid to rely on others to give you what you want or need.  
You have to fucking take it. 

Tissaia drags a chair closer to the raised tub and sets it beside the edge. She takes her seat as if she's ready to divulge important information to Yennefer. But then she parts her lips and shocks the young mage a second time, "Come closer so I can bathe you properly." 

If there's ever a moment Yennefer looks like a gaping fish again - like she had when Tissaia threw her across her office - it's now. "W-what?" 

This time, the older woman breathes deeply before she talks, "I said to come here so I can bathe you properly. Perhaps your hearing _has_ gone, after all, piglet." A thing said months ago. It's funny she thinks Yen will remember the taunt; it's sad that she does. When Yennefer keeps her distance, Tissaia explains irritably, "You left class early after our test of wills. Hopping out of the room like an injured hare, with your tail tucked between your legs. As soon as you had, I realized how strong the blast had been." A blast that stemmed from the girl, and not Sabrina. She would have taken the compliment, if it wasn't paired with incapability. "You're bound to infect your wound if you fail at washing yourself. And I can't have a student alarming others in her feverish mood swings. Now, sit." 

The answer is good enough in reason, but not in motivation to do as she's told. Yennefer resists, "I don't want you touching me." 

"If I recall correctly, I said something along those lines the last time we were alone together. And how did that turn out?" Yen's gaze drops. Guilty - for having pushed the Rectoress to her limits, and then some. She knows she went too far back in Tissaia's office, but it had been hard not to. She hadn't felt that... **that** before. Not even with Istredd. And ever since, she has paid the price for her mistake. Tissaia's barely spoken to her in months, and never outside their lessons. Whenever they happen to pass each other in the halls, it's as if the older woman doesn't see her. Looks past her, never acknowledging her presence. Worse than before. It makes Yennefer feel like a wandering ghost in an abandoned castle. She _hates_ it. 

"Call me Yennefer, and I'll sit down. But I won't if you continue calling me piglet." Not like this. Not when she's naked and insecure of her body. And not after telling Tissaia the last time they were alone that she despised the cruel nickname. 

A beat passes, and then Tissaia relents, "Give me the sponge. _Yennefer._ "  
She reluctantly hands it to the Rectoress before turning her back to the woman, allowing the first, foreign touch on her disfigured spine. If only to get the shame of it out of the fucking way. 

For some time, they sit in silence. The Rectoress tending to her back, and Yennefer holding her breath. It's almost the mirror image of their last encounter. Yen's lips twitch into a small smile at the thought. Just before they frown again. 

She remembers tasting skin, hearing Tissaia gasp and groan, and feeling desperate fingers in her hair. She remembers the urgency in the older woman's panting; they had been so close to oblivion. One last kiss on the other's lips would have sealed the deal. And Yennefer has no doubt that if she had slipped her hand under the Rectoress' gown that day, pressed her fingers between the woman's legs, she would have felt how touch-starved Tissaia really was after all these years.

She swallows, shifting in the water. 

But then she had been thrown across the room by magic. She had felt the pain of her spine, reminding her of her beastly form. After losing sight of it while in the moment. Had been kicked out of the office like a pathetic schoolgirl whose crush could care less about her feelings or wants. And then she had been ignored.  
_No more of that._

"You haven't spoken to me. Since that day." 

Fingers still against her back, sponge leaking soapy water into the tub. They go back to tracing irregular shapes against her olive skin, "Nor have I Sabrina, or Fringilla, or-"

"Have they heard you moan, too?" Yen snaps. She realizes, very quickly, that if they have - she'd be furious. Jealous and possessive, yes, but... But something else, too. _Used._ She would feel used. Less special and more of a temporary fix for the cold, heartless woman sitting behind her. And that was frightening, to say the least. 

"No. They haven't," Tissaia snaps back - frazzled, dunking the sponge harder into the water and splashing Yennefer in the process. For now, it soothes the younger woman in front of her. Not that Tissaia expects Yennefer to give up on the answer that easily. She scrubs the girl's right arm rougher, "You weren't supposed to hear that, either." 

"But I did." 

"Yes, you were quite persistent in that." 

Yennefer glares to herself. "And then you threw me across the room and kicked me out! And you haven't talked to me since." She wills her heart to stop hammering against her chest, as if trying to break out of her ribs, but it's a pointless hope. "It's been _months_ of you ignoring my existence. Pretending I'm invisible." Like some bruxa. Some **monster.** The idea that Tissaia thinks her a monster leaves her heart skipping beats, now. Her chest feels hollow; her blood runs cold. She shifts away from the other's touch, broken by it.

**** 

Tissaia doesn't know what to do. 

It's the first thing she understands when Yennefer pulls away from her touch. The first thought that passes her mind when the girl visibly crumbles in on herself. 

She doesn't know what to say or do to convince the younger mage she's kept her distance for her own sanity.  
And for both of their sake. 

The last time she lost control had proven disastrous for Yennefer. The image of the raven-haired girl crumpled up on the floor of her office stains Tissaia's mind. Who's to say what would happen if she let herself lose control again? Ever since her own training as a young mage, Tissaia had refused to let her emotions get the best of her. She had kept them tucked away in her mind, in neat little boxes. She had existed this way for centuries! It was easier this way. Safer. For both parties involved.

But then Yennefer came into her life, ripping the boxes off the shelves and saying _fuck all_ to everything. Caring little to none over the amount of effort Tissaia had put into the system.

Which is why it was so hard to resist her. Why Tissaia had stared after the girl when she left today's lesson, injured, with ever-growing concern over the student's health. 

Why she was here, sitting behind Yennefer in the bathhouse, trying to think of something to make it all better. Without succumbing to her a second time. 

"If you're looking for an apology, girl, prepare to be disappointed." Yennefer huffs a hard laugh, no doubt rolling her violet eyes. She can't see the pain in them from her position behind the girl, but she can imagine it's there. In the depths of their magnificent hue. "I have my reasons for how I've behaved. Not that I'd expect you to ever understand. You prefer to act on impulse, forgoing logic completely.”

"We can't all be shitty, heartless bastards." 

"If you think I'm doing this out of malice, then you're mistaken." 

"Then tell me **why**. Make me understand." The plead is there, hidden behind fueled fire. It makes the Rectoress' heart ache. She falters in her speech.

 _I can't._ She swallows hard, finding the small act impossible with how dry her throat's gotten. Her hand simply reaches for the floating sponge, dipping it beneath the surface of the bath water, then squeezing the excess water out. "I refuse to discuss this any further. Either sit back and let me finish, or I'll wake the girls and have them do it as a team exercise. Which I doubt they'll be too pleased about, considering the hour." While her tone is gentle, her words are harsh. That wins her the battle. Yennefer pushes herself back against the edge vengefully. The water spills over the edge of the tub from the aggressive movement and onto the Rectoress' slippers. She pushes this annoyance aside. 

A long minute drags by.  
"I hate you." 

Blue eyes widen ever so slightly beneath creased brows. The words fall from the younger mage's lips with such conviction that she can't begin to doubt them. Of course, it only drives the knife deeper into her heart, twisting and turning and spilling her feelings all over the bloody bathhouse floor. Or so she imagines. Tissaia bites the inside of her cheek, jaw slacking to one side. She leans forward, sponge in left hand, to test Yennefer's ribs. While it's a ticklish spot for others, she finds zero movement on the other's behalf. As fitting as the revelation is, it's painfully uncomfortable. The older woman suddenly wishes there was music or chatter or _anything_ to fill the silence and tension between them. Even untimely laughter due to ticklish ribs.

She skims the younger woman's abdomen next, careful not to touch the wound she knows is there. From this angle, she’s at risk of spying the younger woman’s chest. Her gaze remains on a bare shoulder blade, instead.

The moment Sabrina had redirected the blast, Tissaia knew Yennefer wasn't ready to defend herself. She had caught the girl's eyes in passing just before the hit, betraying her approval at the ongoing battle. Which lasted far longer than the rest of their groups'. It was because of her afforded degree of attention that the young mage had gotten hurt in the first place. She had distracted Yennefer from her studies; it was the only reason why she sat in the bathhouse now, tending to her wound. If it had been the other's fault, she might have left her to her own devices and recovery. But guilt had eaten her alive, tearing at every leftover feeling from their run-in in her office. So, she came. And for what? For putting them both through another fucking round of torture?

Except the real torture was waking up in the middle of the night from a dream about Yennefer, finding the spot between her legs slick and aching for the girl's touch. She hadn't felt unfiltered desire like that in so long - if ever. She stayed awake, shamefully teasing her fingers against the sensitive entrance. They felt foreign down there after all this time. Out of place. She had given up quickly, turning over in a huff in her bed and wrapping the blanket tighter around her. Cursing under her breath and trying - hopelessly - to ignore the painful throbbing. 

It was fine - for one night. Less so for the plenty of others that occurred as the months blurred by.  
No, it started to drive her utterly, fucking insane. 

Her hand slides higher on its own accord, brushing just under Yennefer's left breast. Tissaia watches as the girl clears her throat. It's affecting her.  
Maybe as much as it's affecting the Rectoress.

Thankfully, because she’s not sure she can do this without it, the boldness in her student returns, "Go higher." 

_Oh no. She can't. She really, really can't._  
But she does.

She brushes the soft sponge delicately over Yennefer's nipple, circling around it. It hardens immediately at her touch, hitting the edge of the sponge each time, making her stomach tighten at the thought of entertaining the other with her mouth. The throbbing’s returned, already. Her free hand slips to the girl's opposite side, steadying the dark-haired creature while she tends to the act. It's an **inappropriate** one. She knows it as soon as she sees Yennefer's head fall forward, hears her breathing become shallow and labored, and feels her body become hot to the touch. And yet she can't stop herself. Maybe it's some contagious plague the girl's given her - the inability to control oneself.  
It’s addicting.  
She is. 

Tissaia retreats the sponge, passing from chest to arched shoulder, leaving a trace of soap in its wake. She teases the object up Yennefer’s neck, behind it, then back towards the indent between her collar bones. Is this how the younger mage saw her? During the massage? Pliable and ready to be seduced? With the slightest of touches? 

If so, she can’t blame the girl anymore for trying. 

“Perhaps I ought to let you finish the-“ 

“No!” It’s practically a beg. Yennefer’s voice quiets, “Don’t… I’m in pain.”  
A damn lie, but she forgives her for it. Manipulation comes in handy when you’re serving Kings.

So much _want_ for her from this one – it gives her a rush. It’s not like every insolent sorcerer or royal or bystander, craving to own ‘the Tissaia de Vries.’ No, Yennefer’s the only person who wants the real version of herself. The chaotic, uncertain, emotional, and vulnerable version. The one she’s been condemned for in the past. The one she was taught to rid herself of. Yennefer craves that. That fire meet fire, chaos meet chaos. Instability and balance all in one. 

Tissaia realizes, with each passing second and breath the raven-haired girl takes, she wants to give it to her. But it’s such a delicate walk, and they need to take steps instead of strides.

At least for now.

“I’ll need to wash your wound.” She knows it’s mere inches away from where her hand itches to be. “Will you guide me closer to it?” 

Yennefer does, hand sliding over hers and making the goosebumps rise like ice mountains on her arms. The Rectoress can’t help but focus on the way slender fingers cross hers, fingertips hovering near fingertips. Blue eyes close; her chaos is bouncing between her ribs. Or is it her _heart?_ It’s been so long that Tissaia believes the two are inherently connected. She tries to center herself – calm the waves of fear, shame, and desire. 

She barely gets the chance to before the water swallows their hands whole and Yennefer’s pushed the sponge crudely between her legs. Immediately, her eyes fly open – as well as her mouth – and she gasps. Stunned. No one’s stunned her as much as the rebellious mage in training has. No one’s tried so fucking hard to. 

“Yennefer-“ she starts, sternly.

“Mmnn,” Yennefer whines in reply, head bowing. Successfully halting Tissaia’s reluctance altogether. To make matters worse, she doesn’t stop there. Her hand encourages the older woman’s to move. _Up and down, up and down._ And so painfully slow. The simple thought of the movement distracts the Rectoress from the reality of the situation for a moment. But it’s hard to forget the **pleasure**. Especially when the girl breaks her starving lips open and moans. 

The room spins.  
This is her undoing. 

“Faster,” she hears, barely above the sound of rolling water. The girl’s hips are moving to meet the touch, contact driving her body wild and frantic for release. “Please, Tissaia. **Faster.** ” 

The brunette purses her lips hard, closing her eyes again. She can’t watch. A moan of her own threatens to fall and watching Yennefer buck against her hand makes it that much worse. The sound of the young mage’s heavy, increasing panting fills her ears – drowning out every thought in her head. Every doubt, every warning. It won’t take long for the girl reach her orgasm. She’s shaking; she’s already on the verge. 

Tissaia leans her head against the left side of Yennefer’s. She coaxes the girl over the edge, pressing harder between her legs, switching her movement to an erratic side-to-side motion. It may have been a long time since she’s fucked herself or anyone else, but she remembers how. Luckily, her memory serves her correctly. Tissaia hears Yennefer’s moan turn into a silent scream, and then a very - **very** \- sound one. It echoes off of the walls of the bathhouse, rattles her cage. It makes her clit throb and her own hips buck forward in the seat. 

The orgasm steals Yennefer’s body from her, shaking it violently in her tender embrace. The water sloshes over the floor in every direction, wetting her slippers anew. She holds onto the girl for dear life – never wanting to let her go. 

“Tissaia, Tissaia - Tissaia,” the dark-haired rushes in a whisper, pushing the hand and sponge away from the overly sensitive spot they’d been a second ago. Only now does the Rectoress gulp for air, having denied herself a single breath during the entirety of the miracle. Afraid she’d miss one detail. “Mmpffuck. _Shit._ Fuck.” 

How fitting for the girl to blurt a string of curse words. Tissaia breathes a chuckle against her ear, hot breath making Yennefer whimper. 

They stay there, in their odd embrace, for a minute or two longer. Both of them, no doubt, unsure what to do next. There's not exactly a book for this kind of foolery. A plan, or a set in stone schedule. It's passionate, and cursed, and everything Tissaia suddenly wants. 

She takes the bait, offering a dry tease, “My shoes and gown are soaking wet.” 

Yennefer grins to herself, laughing as her head falls back and her violet eyes catch surprised blue ones. “Who goes into a bathhouse…dressed head to toe?” She’s out of breath, and it’s making Tissaia want to kiss her. _To steal whatever’s left._

“Your wound still needs cleaning.” Distractions. She’s trying to avoid the after-sex talk. Yennefer catches on, though. Thankfully, the chaotic girl doesn’t press her in that respect. 

“I’ll clean it,” she assures her, blowing her bangs away from her sweaty forehead, turning now in her bath to get a better look at the older mage. “The water’s freezing.”

“Perhaps you ought to take another.”

“Perhaps you ought to join me.”  
Too soon.

“Perhaps not." She gives her a wry smirk. It drops when she realizes the time. "I should return to my room for the night. When you’re done here, you should as well. We’ve an early lesson tomorrow.” Her voice becomes a little too distant. She regrets it.

Yennefer’s brows pinch together. “Oh.”

To make up for the slip, Tissaia reaches – shakily – towards the girl’s face. She pushes a strand of hair from the crooked mouth. And just like that, they’re staring into each other’s eyes much too long for comfort. Tissaia breaks contact first, gathering herself, before returning her gaze in a redeemable fashion. With a subtle smile, as well. “Goodnight, Yennefer.” 

A proud smile replies. “Goodnight, Rectoress.”

And with that, Tissaia leaves.  
Replaying the scene over for the rest of her night, up until the first crack of dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS. I have zero idea how sponges are in this world, but we're gonna say they're the soft, fluffy ones and not the ones that look like they could actually skin you. Thanks for understanding, fam :')


End file.
